


How Doth The Little Crocodile

by quingigillion (cartouche)



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dirk joins the Rowdy 3, Dirk never went to blackwing, Gen, Grungy/Punk Dirk, Making it an even bigger misnomer, they wont let him go forever though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 20:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartouche/pseuds/quingigillion
Summary: Someone has beat them to it. That’s never happened before.They hate having their fun spoiled. Especially by some skinny white guy with a bloody nose who’s grinning far too wide."Oh.Hi!"





	

The van rumbles and grumbles and shudders to a halt. He can feel his heart thud, loud in his ears, and behind that his boys howl, bloodthirsty and hungry, ready to wreak havoc. Metal clangs loud on metal, ringing. The van shakes. He breathes slow and deep until his boot makes solid contact with the door, pushing it open on rusted creaking hinges. 

Outside the air tastes thick and heavy. Delicious. 

Gripps and Cross are behind him immediately, flanking his broad shoulders. Vogel’s off already, manic, cackling, and glass shatters, crunches underfoot. He bounces alongside them, vibrating with excitement, buzzing. 

They are the dogs of war. 

It’s a good spot for tonight, some stuck up suburban neighbourhood with white picket fences and shiny, new mercedes. They’ll scare them alright. A veritable fucking buffet of soccer moms and prim children. 

His hands tighten around the comforting splinters of the baseball bat handle, rough and warm. His glasses fog as he breathes. They round the corner, blood roaring in their ears, muscles twitching and throats tight, and stop. He blinks; once, twice. 

Someone has beat them to it. That’s never happened before. 

He senses Cross tense and lurch, snarling, and he spins, quick, wrapping an arm around his heaving chest to hold him back. Cross struggles and Martin grunts. They hate having their fun spoiled. Especially by some skinny white guy with a bloody nose who’s grinning far too wide. 

‘Oh. _Hi_!’ Confusing. The guy smells good, and he feels his stomach rumble, but he’s still brandishing a chipped cricket bat and standing in the carnage of what was once a Porsche. A light flicks on, curtains twitch, and light is promptly turned off again. The guy has made his way closer, hand cautiously extended and smile still etched broad onto his features. His jeans have torn, gaping holes splitting the faded fabric, and a shard of glass glints jagged out of the wounds on his scraped knees. He should clean that. ‘The universe said you’d be here. Well, said _something_ would be here, I didn’t know what exactly, or _who_ as it were. Still, pleasure to meet you all. Would you like to give me a hand with the next car?’ 

Martin decides immediately that this kid talks too much. He’s bright and burning and running out of oxygen. Vogel’s circling, sniffing, and he stumbles back slightly, unsure. The grin doesn’t go away. 

His shoulders shrug, slow and rolling, and the kid takes that as a good sign, letting out a high pitched whoop as he runs at the next car, bat raised high above his head. It comes smashing down and cracks the sun roof. Gripps looks at him before following his lead, and soon they’re all in the fray, leaping and screaming and wrecking. It feels like freedom. 

* * *

He gives Dirk a jacket. It doesn’t mean shit, he’s just sick of seeing that bright yellow monstrosity perched in the back of the van. It’s a fucking eyesore so they burn it. The flames lick at the night sky and music booms tinny out of their speaker. Dirk holds the cracked leather with a reverence shining in his eyes, and slides it on carefully. The paint is faded, and it’s too big, but Martin carefully rolls up the sleeves and scoffs at Dirk’s thanks. It doesn’t mean anything. Dirk trips over and gets a concussion from the side of the van. It leaves a dent. He’s proud. 

* * *

Gripps paints his nails black one day in the back of the van. It smudges horribly but Dirk proudly wears the chipped varnish until it’s scraped away. Martin watches his long fingers grip uneasily tight at the crowbar, knuckles white and brow creased in concentration. The old lady leaves him with 3 home made stitches and a black eye. Dirk claims she was very handy with an umbrella. Martin prepares disinfectant and tweezers. He realises there’s 5 in their family now. Dirk talks enough for everyone and he won't sit still as Martin pushes the needle carefully between the skin on his cheeks. 

* * *

Dirk still insists on wearing the tie and shirt. It looks ridiculous paired with frayed denim and peeling leather. He pulls it off. Vogel gives him a pair of old boots once his flimsy rubber shoes give out and Dirk delights in kicking down doors with the steel toe caps. He shows them all 3 times at least. Martin wonders a lot how he’s survived for so long. 

It doesn’t matter any more. They’ll protect him. 

Dirk procures an old rustbucket of a Mustang and Cross painstakingly takes it apart and puts it together. Dirk hovers and hands him spanners and gets in the way. He burns the rubbers out 3 times in one week and leaves a scratch along the chassis paintwork. He hugs them all and returns with bricks and bottles and a new radio. Blood drips onto the brown stains on his jeans. Martin needs to teach him how to handle a sledge hammer. 

* * *

A lot changes when Dirk meets Todd and Martin’s not happy. He knows he doesn’t like Todd. Todd’s a wide eyed, quivering _pussy_. He tries to be nice, for Dirk’s sake, but this little coward makes his blood boil. Dirk tells them it was meant to be and the universe just wants it this way, but him and his Rowdies still loom behind him whenever Todd gets too close. Dirk’s too good for him. He tries to learn the guitar to impress Todd but it’s a disaster that ends in broken strings and smashed wood. Todd winces and Martin sees Dirk’s face fall. He tells him he’d better enjoy it or he’ll trash his apartment. He ruins it anyway, out of spite, breaks plates and chairs and a glass coffee table. Vogel graffitis. Dirk tells Todd it means they likes him. 

Dirk threatens a lot of people in Todd’s life; his manager, his landlord, the bus driver who short changed him. His voice cracks squeakily when he’s angry and something fiery and protective burns in Martin’s chest as he watches Dirk flail with the knuckledusters planted firmly in his fists. Todd tries to pry his hands open and take them away. Martin growls. 

* * *

They’ve noticed, between the 4 of them, that Dirk has an odd way of bending the universe to his will. He may have to leave intimidation to the others, but the people he meets almost always end up at a grisly, gruesome end. Like that guy who was found wrapped up naked in the barbed wire of an electric fence, sizzling slightly, 4 days after he broke 3 of Dirk’s ribs. It’s too often to be coincidence, and Martin wonders if they should be lucky that they’re on Dirk’s good side. He’s more dangerous than they’ll ever be. 

* * *

Martin’s never had friends before. The Rowdies have been his family for as long as possible, bound by hunger and hatred, burning bright and dangerous. Dirk’s one of them now, but he still collects people to him, the sister, the militia, even the police officers with their eyebrows and questions. Dirk delights in it, and for the most part, Martin lets him be, glad to have him sunshine and happiness. He still staggers into the van with them, bruised and broken and battered, he still keeps lookout while they feast, he still wears the jacket reverently, like it's his favourite possession. It’s good enough. Sometimes he goes off with Todd, rumbling away in his battered muscle car, but he promises to be back once he’s solved the case, and he never breaks his promise. Dirk returns one day with a kitten, tiny and mewling. It bites Martin’s finger when he fits it into the palm of his hand. It becomes their mascot, wild and feisty, living off of scraps and fighting everything. The only person it will touch is Dirk, occasionally curling up in an angry ball on his lap, purring in a quiet grumble as his hands twitch behind its ears and stroke down the length of its back. It’s claws are sharp and it’s teeth are sharper. 

* * *

It doesn’t surprise him when the tattered remnants of Blackwing emerge from the shadows, sharp and dark. Somewhere along the way it's become twisted, even more shattered than before. Light glints off the mirrored sights approaching in the grass. The music blares. Gripps and Cross stand with him, adrenaline surging, weapons at hand. They’ll face this head on. He barks at Vogel to drag Dirk away, boots kicking up dust. He won’t let them take the kid. He’s too important. They’d all rather _die_. The gas canisters fizz and the air is stained with blue and red, and he pauses to remember what the wind feels like, the sun on his back, and takes a step forward. He can feel Vogel run, rabbit quick, disappearing through the long grass. It whips at his legs in long, stinging gashes. The bat melds itself into his skin, an extension of his arm, and he roars. 

  
“Let’s get ‘em boys!” 

**Author's Note:**

> for [LT](http://ltofoceania.tumblr.com), my fave who constantly inspires me with dirk prompts
> 
> im now slightly in love with wild, grungy dirk who never goes to blackwing and gets adopted by the rowdies instead of amanda. he's bad at smashing things but they love him anyway.
> 
> -  
>  _How doth the little crocodile_  
>  _Improve his shining tail_  
>  _And pour the waters of the Nile_  
>  _On every golden scale!_  
>  _How cheerfully he seems to grin_  
>  _How neatly spreads his claws_  
>  _And welcomes little fishes in_  
>  _With gently smiling jaws!_


End file.
